Class of '84
by Skylar Something Weatherall
Summary: An underground group works to survive in a world of 1984. (Origionally an idea for a comic book, it may eventually be one. But i wound up writing it down instead of drawing it.) Also i'd like to apologize to the author of the other 'class of 84'
1. Chapter the first

Disclaimer: I do not own the world in which this takes place, George Orwell is (was) a genius and I cant claim the deed to anything in here, for all of it was inspired by him 

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Class of '84 

Stev walked through the prolitarian quarters on his way to work at the Ministry of Truth. A light rain was falling. He wondered at how even the rain was dirty. It hadn't even touched the filthy walls or the street and already it was grimy. This fact depressed him, so hunching down, trying to get more warmth out of his ancient jacket he hurried on his way. 

Dodging into narrow side streets hoping to shave minutes off of his commute Stev noticed the world around him. Not for the first time he observed how the proles just left the laundry they had hung out to dry in the rain. 'How odd', he thought. But then again the proles did not worry about such things, there was always time for them. they never had to worry about the thought police about the telescreens constantly watching you about hidden microphones or the cellars of Miniluv. All they worried about was where the next meal was coming from, or weather or not they had razor blades or sauce pans. They did not know what a luxury they had, that they could hang clothes out to dry, have it rain, and have the knowledge that they would be alive when they finally dried out. 

He was fast approaching The Ministry, Stev's thoughts turned to the long day he had ahead of him. He was high in the propaganda and publicity department. His main job was synthesizing Big Brother's voice and image so that it looked believably 'real' on the telescreen. Though, he thought with a streak of bitterness crossing his mind, party members and proles alike would see Big Brother in a boiled talking carrot if the Inner Party told them it was Him. Today was going to be a long one, he had to make a fifteen minute speech frame by frame and synthesize the voice just the right way. Big Brother's voice was always supposed firm, yet soothing, protecting. It gave people a sense of feeling safe and at ease, no discontent, it stopped even the most wicked of thought criminals for a short time. 

He arrived at his desk almost late (he was five minutes early). He put his tattered coat on the back of his chair to dry and sat down to see if any messages new had come in. There was one he unrolled it glanced at it and controlled an urge to crumple it up and hurl it at the nearest telescreen. "Punctuality is a required virtue of Party members" the message was given to all members who were deemed lazy and or tardy. All the members of the Outer Party were supposed to put in fifteen hours of 'volunteer' overtime a week, this usually meant coming to work an hour early and leaving an hour later than required. Any one who did not fulfill this requirement got one of these messages or something similar fitting the nature of their idleness. Stev calmly picked up the note and let it fall down the memory tube. He then proceeded to work. 

Much of the work was tedious, revising images shading in the proper areas. Adding in the proper intonations of His voice, that was tricky; a slip of the hand, and wrong tone for a split second could ruin a whole speech. Repetition of these mistakes could annoy eventually anger an audience, these things had to be controlled. That is, if one didn't want the audience to be angered. Stev controlled the cynical grin that threatened to manifest itself, he began working on the audio part of the tape. A virus, a very rare, very dangerous virus of his own creation. The nature of the bug itself was complex, it ingrained itself deep into the fibre of the video, making it extremely hard to detect by machines. From there it 'ate' away at the bits of tape, eroding the smoothness of Big Brother's voice, making a slight buzz in the background. Though it may not seem like much it took some of the all knowing all powerful effect out of Big Brother's speech. It made him seem human, killable. And this was the purpose Stev was going for, to show the populace that Big Brother was nothing more than a human if that, to encourage them, to show them there was hope, start the process that would lead to a revolt, merely get a reaction out of the numb masses. 

With a few clicks of a mouse a few taps of the keys he 'accidentally' and 'unknowingly' let the virus loose on the speech. Clicked the 'done' button and prepared to leave, already it was twenty hundred hours, he'd been there for over eleven hours. He picked up his paper thin jacket and made his way to the lifts. Once outside in the damp September air he carefully threaded his way away from the crowds to the heart of the prolitarian quarters. 


	2. Chapter the second

Untitled 

Walking through the filthy sections of London was refreshing. Stev rarely used the tubes, they were too heavily monitored, so these constitutionals were almost daily exercises. All around him were signs of life, stray cats everywhere, small gardens on rooftops, and people living and thriving. Well thriving was too powerful a word, living and remaining human describes it more aptly. For they were always short of food, of paper, of many important commodities, and were as a rule educated as little as possible without breeding discontent. However the proles did not need to be overly cautious around the telescreens, they could go days without even thinking about the Party. The Party was not even very concerned about them, they only paid attention enough to eliminate the intelligent and possibly dangerous ones. Other than routine exterminations they left the proles alone. In the proles was left the last shred of humanity in the world, it was driven from Party members, and in Eurasia and Eastasia similar things were happening or had already happened. They were the only Homo Sapiens that remained who were left with pure emotion. They could still love, they could feel sadness, they could at least feel. 

In walking through these slums one could actually see a mother's true affection in the way she treated her children. Could see young lovers in their short-lived beauty, sharing affections. It would not be long, perhaps by spring, until the man would start the hard labor that would callus him till the day he died, and the woman would swell with pregnancy which would widen her and take with it her wild rose beauty. It would be less than ten years he thought before both were hardened by physical labor and in less than twenty they would be grandparents. But now walking those grimy streets one could look and see humans, not the unfeeling automatons that he worked with every day. 

He made his way toward the heart of these tenements, there were over twenty ways to get to his destination, and he knew them all by heart. After an hour of narrow streets, twists and turns, going into and out of broken down buildings he finally entered the building that would eventually take him to his `home'. Truly too complicated to explain he ducked into a long corridor and after countless twists and turns he finally entered the tunnel that would take him underground to his temporary lair. 

The 'lair' so to speak was not only his, it was his and it was the group he dwelled with's. It was everyone's and it was no one's. The interior was cluttered, computers and wires were everywhere, one had to watch their footing constantly. In some of the back rooms there were cots that could be taken out and set up whenever one needed sleep. The ceilings and floors were mostly metal, but for warmth's sake (and for the sake of having somewhere to hide or something to pull down to create confusion should the thought police find them) tattered old blankets and rugs had been hung about for insulation. Though most of the place was harsh looking and cold, there were a few rooms filled with books. Not the new ones that were sought out destroyed and rewritten every few years, these were books that had existed before the revolution. In three high ceilinged rooms from floor to ceiling were shelves upon shelves of books, on the floors of these rooms were dilapidated old chairs and ancient lamps, which gave these sanctuaries a nostalgic look. In these rooms were some of the oldest remaining books in the country, possibly the world. The six entrances to their temporary residence were heavily monitored, though by the dwellers of this underground as opposed to by the party, so that escape could be made before the thought police get there. 

Stev walked in and dropped his battered briefcase by his computer. He rubbed his eyes and sat down, absentmindedly felt the scar that ran diagonally down the left half of his nose and sat down. He began typing, breaking codes, solving matrices, doing any and all he could to find other possible weaknesses in the Party's defense and/or mind controlling structure. That one little virus had been obtained only after about 120 hours of mind bending work looking at all available data and probing into the Party's data mainframe. The fallacies the Party constantly weaved were iron clad, backed by constantly rewritten records, finding a flaw was hard to find, and holding on to it was nearly impossible and very, very dangerous. He rubbed his eyes again, looked around his makeshift table, found the bottle and swallowed and anti-fatigue pill dry, and resumed his typing. 

He hadn't eaten yet today, nor would he. Food was always scarce in the city, their little underground was no different. Stev always ate sparingly, there were whole families that traveled around with them, the kids looked god awful. No worse than the adults, but they were just children, skin and bones. Stev usually ate about half of his rations and gave the rest to whomever needed them. He could sometimes eat in the canteen of the ministry after all, and they could not, but usually he tried to 'save' his money. 

Saving is quite possibly the wrong choice of wording here. Stev really only kept a fraction of his wages the rest he laundered through various pubs and gambling rings. The reason the Party did not question his living in the depths of the proletarian slums was that they assumed him to be an alcoholic and full of other unmentionable vices. In reality he would go into a pub, and order drink after drink, which was in reality water. The bartender (another member of the underground) would in turn send him shot after shot of water, and pocket the money, or launder it through other pubs, card games, or whatever. He had successfully managed to outmaneuver Big Brother through manipulation of their own monitoring techniques, for now at least. Through passing the money from hand to hand it eventually came to rest in their vaults. Everyone who worked only kept about twenty dollars of the several hundred they earned per month, but they had access to the vaults whenever the necessity arrived. 

After a time a somber, stoic-looking girl about Stev's age (he figured he was about 18) walked into the room. 

"Hey K'rin" Stev said, not taking his eyes off the screen. 

She smiled bleakly "Hi. Did you do it?" She leaned against the door frame. 

"Yeah, we'll see if it went through unnoticed on Thursday. It'd should work though, I spent eleven hours installing it, and they really wont be expect something this suddel." He kept on typing. 

"Stev?" 

"What? I'm trying to work." Still not looking up from his monitor. 

"Have you eaten yet today?" 

"Yeah, I ate a little while ago." 

She got down level to him, and studied his profile. "No you haven't. You cant starve yourself like this. You're running twenty-five hour stretches with no sleep, you have to eat something, these damn pills are not enough. Here" she took her dinner bar out of her satchel and put them down in front of him. "eat. At any rate Phred wants to see you." 

Stev starring at the health bar looked up. "I didn't get any message." 

"Yeah his cat's sick*, he told me to come and find you, he needs to talk with you before the night is through. Well I must take my leave of you now. Good-bye" With that K'rin walked out of the room. Stev watched her disappear into the murky darkness of the corridor before he resumed his typing. 

* I really must explain the whole cat thing. In the world/time that is 1984, messages must be sent, however people can be caught and the information can be extracted from them, pigeons were shot down as a rule of thumb, and telephones were an obvious "don't". Hence the only really `safe' way to send messages was through cats. Strays populated the streets of most (if not all) cities and towns, so it was only a matter of time before someone thought to catch and breed (now it was bioengineer) them for intelligence, stamina (and with the help of science and technology) and empathy. Everyone in this little organization had one cat, which they trained from birth and formed some sort of bond with (allergies were something people had to deal with) Messages could be tied to one of their hind legs, and the cats could be told where to go, and one could rest assured that the cat would probably get there. But after all is said and done the cats never lasted long, (the average life span was about 5 years) the job was just too dangerous, plus the proles were encouraged to kill these `pests', and stray dogs (often starving) roamed the streets too. Members were encouraged not to get to close the their `pets', and as a rule of thumb they never wrote down and locations that were not public places. Most messages merely read "need to speak with you" and one could recognize whose cat it was and go to speak with whomever needed them. These felines really made good allies. 

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	3. Chapter the third

About two hours later (about 0100 hours) Stev pushed the keyboard away and pulled himself to his feet. He started down the corridor, stopping a few times to push some fallen wires back into place behind the curtains. The hallway was dark and musty; walking down here gave one the impression of traveling through catacombs, especially when the tunnels went under the river and the walls became moldy(er) from the constant dripping. Because of the dankness one was always in danger of contracting a cold or any other disease that happens to be in at the time. Stev turned into a narrow side corridor and entered Phred's room.  
  
Phred's room also doubled as the source of power for their whole little community. The only hints the this was actually someone's room was because of a musty cot, a beaten-up looking leather satchel, several pill bottles (anti-fatigue, spasm control, anxiety control, etc.) and a complex looking laptop in one corner, the rest of the room was a mass of wires. It was Phred's main job to keep the underground supplied with power, he didn't always used live like this, but it was just easier to put himself in a position where he could immediately fix any problem that manifested itself. No one could really tell how he could navigate the mess of wires let alone manipulate them to evenly distribute electricity without the Party growing wise, but he did it (did it well) so no one asked questions.  
  
As it was Phred was sort of an oddball, he was only seventeen but he rarely spoke to anyone about anything other than what needed to be fixed or updated. He mostly stayed in his room... tinkering. One time he didn't leave for three weeks and when his door finally opened an armada of spider- esk foot high robots came out, walked into random rooms then promptly exploded. Phred had situated himself in the hall and watched the chaos unfold... and laughed (and laughed, and laughed). There really wasn't anything anyone could do, everyone depended on Phred for their power, so they just ignored him and dealt with whatever he sent their way. The only people who really spoke to him were K'rin and a few other eclectic members of the community. Even then Phred really didn't say anything of value, as it was no one knew who he really was, where he came from, anything pertinent about his past stayed locked in his mind. Stev was one of his very few close friends.  
  
Stev stood in the doorway trying to find Phred in the amassment of wires, when all of the sudden sparks started flying and Stev noticed him in a large pile trying to meld some of the metal siding back in place. He had his long scruffy mass of black hair pulled back and was wearing old- fashioned goggles attempting to keep the sparks out of his eyes. Stev unperturbed remained where he was and lightly rapped the doorframe with his knuckles, Phred spun around wide-eyed in surprise. He pulled his goggles off.  
  
"Don't sneak up on me like that" he sighed and plopped down on his cot.  
  
"Sorry" replied Stev in monotone "K'rin said you needed to speak with me"  
  
"Hmmm, oh yeah. I need you to pick me up some disks, wire, metal grating... here" he rummaged in his bag bringing forth a list on old used paper and handed it to him, his hand was shaking slightly "I've written down what I need.... Also" he looked at the floor, almost ashamed "you might want to mention to whomever that it might be time to consider moving again. We've been here for far longer than is wise, we use up a lot of power and it's hard to hide it all. I'm sorry, but it's really hard..."  
  
Stev looked up from the list "I'll bring it up next time we have a meeting. Anyway it might take me awhile to get these things for you. Is that all you needed?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Ok" Stev turned to leave, then looked back "How are the hands?"  
  
Phred cocked his head to one side, focused his alert green eyes on him "How are the dreams?"  
  
Stev gave a weak smile "Touché. I'll talk to you later" With that he left and headed back to his computer. He sat down, and resumed his typing.  
  
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A sharp buzzing brought Stev back to the land of the living. He had nodded off at his console again. He glanced at the clock on the screen, it was 0500, he had to get ready for another day at minitrue. After changing into a quasi-clean set of clothes he swallowed another three tablets with some weak victory coffee, grabbed his case and set off.  
  
He arrived at work at 0700, sat down in his cubicle and read some messages. He controlled an urge to smirk; the annoying punctuality message was absent today. He started on his first project, nothing hard, merely creating a new standing position for a Big Brother poster that was to be plastered across the city in a few days, merely manipulating pixels and such plus a bit of know-how and artistic talent and it was done. It was about 0900 when he finished; he leaned back in his chair to stretch. As if on cue a message came out of the tube "Laziness is a vice", Stev stared at it for moment, put it aside and began to work yet again.  
  
Three tough looking young men appeared behind him (the cubicles had no backs, just three walls and you sat with your back to where the fourth wall was supposed to be. This took some time for Stev to get used to; he had grown accustomed to sitting with your back to the door, eyes watching the windows and doors). Stev heard them behind him and slowly got out of his chair.  
  
"Hold it right there!" Barked one. Stev froze halfway up and looked them over. The boys wore uniforms somewhat similar to those of the scouts, however more serious, more deadly. These boys could not be much over the maximum age for the childrens' organization, and were obviously in training for some security job, this was probably their first assignment. He was now more than ever thankful his mother had forbade him join the scouts when he was five, who knows what he might have turned out like had he been brainwashed at that age.  
  
Comparatively speaking he was not much different than these young men. They were about the same age, same height, same complexion, but Stev was easily 50 pounds lighter than the smallest of them. Where they were muscular Stev was all bone; where they were linear cut comrades whom had never worked intellectually Stev's face was strained with the burden of his work; where they had shallow reflective eyes, his looked as though he had been watching over the world since the first dawn. He stared at them, the exertion of holding his position was beginning to tell on him, in a few moments his hands would begin shaking. The guards-in-training snickered amongst themselves, the tallest one stepped forward.  
  
"Are you Stev Phourlorne?" Stev nodded, keeping calm "Mr. Jenkins would like to speak with you. Please come with us." He nodded, swallowed hard. Jenkins was the overseer of not only his department, but the entire propaganda proportion of the Ministry of Truth, and a highly recognized member of the Inner Party. They knew, they had caught him. He numbly followed the young men down the hall. He was going to go to the Ministry of love, he was going to be tortured, beaten... these didn't bother him so much, he had accepted them as realities ever since he was a boy, it was room 101 that bothered him. Room 101.... He faltered a little and one of his knees buckled under him. The guards took it as an opportunity to test out their new equipment, one of them jammed the butt of their rifle in his stomache, the other cracked him on the back of the skull with some other blunt object, the third stood watch. Stev crumpled to the floor, tried to push himself up but was knocked down again when one of the guards boots connected with his ribs. The stress, lack of sleep, paranoia, everything came rushing back to the foreground of his mind, his vision blacked out and he lost consciousness.  
  
As the guards picked him up and carried him to his destination the rest of the workers in the propaganda department continued their on with their jobs undisturbed. 


	4. Chapter the fourth

Stev regained consciousness in a small white tiled cell lit solely by a glaring fluorescent fixture bolted to the ceiling. Stev kept his breathing slow and steady, a simple enough trick keeping a cool head could keep one's heart rate somewhat normal and would not immediately notify anyone watching heart and respiration monitors. They would notice he was conscious soon enough, for now he just needed to get his bearings, some idea of where he was. He was unable to move, strapped down to a rigid chair. Without moving he noticed there was a needle in his arm, he couldn't see the bag but he conjectured from the way his vision was blurred and his thinking process was slowed that it was some sort of truth serum that was dripping into his veins. He attributed some of the blurring to the fact that his glasses were gone, but his eyes were not this bad, he wondered briefly where they had fallen off, if they truly meant to erase him someone would have picked them up and incinerated them. Judging from the quality and pressure of the air he was probably some levels underground. He did not move his head but looked around the room, aside from the tiles, his chair and the light there was a large mirror (two-way obviously), and the ever-present telescreen, of course.  
  
The door handle moved, Stev snapped his head up; they were monitoring him very closely to be able to know of his waking up so soon. A streak of pain shot through him at this sudden movement, he refused to wince at it though. Instead he tried to focus on the figure coming towards him. It was Jenkins, even with his faulty vision he could identify the warm beguiling smile, the friendly mustache, the dimples and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes he could see that. Jenkins gave off the air of being the your favorite uncle, gentle, understanding; the feeling of intimacy radiated off of him. Stev did not let such appearances fool him. Jenkins pulled up a chair and sat in front of him and smiled. Stev squinted to see him.  
  
"Oh, that's right," said Jenkins noticing Stev's squinting, he brought forth his, glasses one lens was cracked "You're glasses fell off when those little hooligans brought you in." He reached over and placed Stev's glasses on the bridge of his nose, Stev held rigidly still. Jenkins ignored it and continued "They're essentially good boys, graduated from the ranks of the scouts with full honors, one of them even denounced his parents as being thought criminals. I'm very proud of them, but they do tend to be a bit rough. They're well on their way to being great law enforcers. Some day they might even raise to the ranks of thought police, I wouldn't be surprised in the least."  
  
Stev starred at him, 'What is he rambling on about?' he thought, his mind raced 'What is going on, this isn't what they did to thought criminals', idle chit chat was never in the rumors of the goings on in the Ministry of Love. This of course was preferable to what he was expecting, but he no idea what was going to happen. Plus whatever drug he was under the influence of was blurring not only his vision but bending his mind as well.  
  
Jenkins settled down in his chair and looked at him squarely, "Now I hear we've had some sort of situation in your department. We've traced the problem to you console." Stev feigned ignorance, and looked at him surprised, it was surprisingly hard, the drug made it hard to concentrate. "Yes, it was very hard to detect, you're lucky we caught it before the speech was broadcasted. It ate away at the tape in places, we think it might have been on a disk or something, or ingrained in data you downloaded off the internet."  
  
'Could it be they don't know I did it on purpose?' He thanked his lucky stars he had had the foresight to plant the virus inside data used in his program. At least it really looked like an accident. Here was a prime example of the advantages of being underestimated. They didn't think he could do it. He had to fight hard to keep a look of divine relief from spreading off his face; instead he forced horror to dawn on his face. Faking expressions was getting harder and harder 'What the hell did they put in me?' he wondered briefly. He would be punished of course, but at least he'd be released, he wouldn't be killed, maybe sent to a forced labour camp, but he'd be let go.  
  
" Who could have done such a thing?" Stev forced the shock into his voice. "What disk was this on? Could I have been able to tell?" Stev swallowed heavily, this was hard, he wanted to start screaming with frustration. If not a type of truth serum then this was defiantly some kind of narcotic to make one lose one's sense of judgment. At any rate he decided not to tempt it, technically none of this was a lie. Though equivocating in this condition was proving exceptionally difficult.  
  
"We took the liberty of searching you desk and briefcase. The virus was on a disk with all your image manipulating software and some data from the Internet. It looks like an accident, but we'd like to ask you few questions." Jenkins gave him a genuinely warmhearted smile, "You up to it sport?" He couldn't breathe; everything was hard to focus on. Answers to Jenkins' questions were getting harder and harder to filter into warped versions of the truth. And the questions, pressings began to spill forth. Hours were passed doing this.  
  
"Did you plant this?" Stev blinked, none of the previous questions were this direct.  
  
"I...uh...yes, you tell me it was in that disk that I put in my computer." That was truth, somewhat. He was so pressed he was near tears. 'KILL ME OR LET ME GO!' he wanted to scream. This was tearing at his nerves. He wanted to scream, and throw himself on the floor in a tantrum. But he just sat there trying blindly to answer these questions that were repeatedly thrown at him.  
  
"No. What I mean is did you knowingly download the virus into this disk and then plant it?"  
  
Stev starred at Jenkins. He was fighting hard to keep his heartbeat regulated; as yet he had not unclenched his fists. He took a deep breath and answered, "I-I-it was ingrained really deep in the data, you say. How could I have known what to do? .... That kind of thing requires years of experience." This was part was true; Stev had been at this for years. Working during the day for the party and working all night on his own he had become quite adept at this sort of thing "You might be overestimating my capabilities." Not a lie, but by far was not the truth.  
  
Jenkins looked at him thoughtfully. He chose his words carefully. "Maybe you're right, you are but a boy. How old are you anyway" he glanced down at a clipboard he had been carrying, eighteen? Well your age and inexperience" (Stev fought back a smirk) "excuse your ineptness somewhat, but slip-ups like these cannot be tolerated. I think time in a forced labour camp is a little harsh, so we'll let this one slide." He got up "Despite your young age and naiveté you are quite good with computers. But pull something like this again and you'll be looking at least five years in a camp. We need you here, but from now on your going to be watched a little more closely. Do you think that fair?"  
  
Stev nodded in shocked, which caused yet another bolt of pain to shoot up his spine. Jenkins then loosed the straps holding him to the chair, pulled the wires off of him, and yanked the needle out of his arm; blood welled briefly, and let him up.  
  
He swayed a bit on his feet, his eyes blacked out briefly. Stev noticed his hands were shaking; he clenched them and shoved them in his pocket. Jenkins gazed at him, though he might not be able to make it all the way home on his own, Stev would be damned if he would let Jenkins see him fall.  
  
"You know what" Jenkins said "I'm going to call my boys in here to help you to your desk, I doubt you could find your way out on your own" As he was saying the aforementioned Jenkins had pressed a red call button situated next to the door. The three boys came in.  
  
"What do you want us to do?" Asked the tallest, the apparent ringleader.  
  
"I want you to assist Mr. Phourlorne to his cubicle back on the third flour. And I don't want to see you guys beating up on him, ok?" An unspoken order went through with this command. The tallest nodded, the other two took Stev by his arms and led him out the door.  
  
They were halfway to the lifts when Jenkins called out again "Oh boys, do show Mr. Phourlorne the penalty for ignorance on the job." The door closed one guard let go of Stev's arm, the other swung him around and smashed him into the wall, held him there by his shoulder.  
  
"Stupid boy" The taller said, and with those few words spoken kneed him in the stomache. 'I won't cry out' Stev thought to himself 'I don't care what they do, I won't scream'. One of them hit him square across the face ripping the scar on his nose a bit and knocking off his glasses. Stev couldn't see who, but one of the boys knocked his knees out from under him, and he crashed to the floor. The blows from the fists stopped, replaced by swift, powerful, hard kicks to his ribs, stomache, spine, face, legs, anywhere they could find a spot to kick. He felt a few cracks, and shuddered involuntarily, several fractured ribs, not fully broken, but painful nonetheless.  
  
Fighting back would have been useless, though Stev was far from weak. His naturally wiry frame did not betray his strength in the least. He might even have been able to take all three of them, but he was in their territory and had he fought back he would have had it much worse. So he just lay there and took it. After they had gotten tired of their sport Stev pushed himself to his hands and knees and climbed to his feet. He managed to walk to the lifts and back to his desk without collapsing.  
  
By the time Stev reached his cubicle it was well past 2300 hours, and several punctuality, and laziness messages had come in from the mail chute at the side of his desk. 


	5. Chapter the fifth

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything, much less Winston, who makes a cameo.  
  
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Stev was escorted back to his cubicle by Jenkins' burly cohorts. He just stared blankly at his desk, which inadvertently annoyed one of the lesser guards. The taller one gave him a whack to the ribs with the butt of his rifle, an audible crack was heard. Stev hardly noticed it, all he could think about was how much he wanted to run screaming from his desk, the ministry, the country, all mankind, to get away. Instead he just stood there, staring at his desk. As the guards took their leave of him, he felt an incredible wave of apathy wash over him, 'why couldn't they have merely killed me?' he thought sullenly. Yet within himself he knew that he was 'lucky'. Had he been so fortunate as to have had the Party decide to eliminate him they would not have done it there and then, but over a grueling period of months perhaps years of torture (mental and physical).  
  
It was nearly half past 0100 hours by the time Stev left the ministry. The streets were nearly deserted, which meant, unfortunately, that he could not go home. After tonight it was most certain that he would be monitored as much as possible, and with so few crowds to disappear into he would assuredly lead the Party, or the Thought Police, or whomever to capture everyone in the underground. So he set off walking, not knowing exactly where he would end up.  
  
Stev wound up eventually at the community centre, it was the safest place given the circumstances. They were heavily monitored (of course) but anyone watching him would see nothing more than poor alcoholic playing a few games before passing out in whatever accommodations were available. He would actually have to sleep (something he was not fond of, for personal reasons), to allay the suspicions of whomever that he had hours of uncharted free time, which he actively spent engaging in anti-Party activities.  
  
As he entered the imposing building his eyes, by now accustomed to the dimly lit streets, were assaulted by the harsh fluorescent lighting typical of nearly all edifices now adays. The place was devoid of life except for three or four night owls like himself. Stev found a chess player in their ranks, so the two of them sat down to a game. They exchanged fairly few words; the man's name, Stev found out was Winston. He was an older man, his face a mask of apathy, yet all around him he had an air of suffocating hopelessness. Stev liked him identified with him, he tried to find him again a few weeks hence, but he never saw him again.  
  
After he bid his opponent goodnight Stev wandered about for awhile. Played a few rounds of table tennis, he decided to avoid any strenuous activities that night. Finally at about 0300 hours he bedded down for the night in a sterile plastic chair. He dreaded sleep, but he had to keep up appearances, so reluctantly he let unconsciousness claim him.  
  
He started awake wanting to cry out, but as per usual holding it in, it was the same old type of dream, nothing new. Glancing at a clock he noted the hour was quarter past 0500 hours. With two of hours of sleep under his belt Stev roused himself for the day, it would be best if he got in a few hours early to catch up on the work he'd missed the previous day. Stev got out of his chair and stretched, the pain in his chest from yestermorn's activities manifested itself, Stev stiffened, but otherwise his pain remained hidden. Stev guessed (and was correct in presuming) that at least on of his ribs was broken. There was no time to worry about that now, he had work. At any rate there's really not much that can be done for cracked ribs, save give them time to knit. He grabbed his briefcase and rushed off to minitru.  
  
Stev arrived at a quarter passed 0600 hours and began to work on the enormous mound of papers that had piled up the previous day during his prolonged absence. And so passed the day. Every now and then Steve's rib cut into him, twice his vision blacked out (not new, merely inconvenient).  
  
The day wore on.  
  
In order to make up all the work he had missed, in addition to the steady stream the chute spat out at him, Stev had to stay late (again). It was 2300 hours by the time he left. Walking home he was a little slower today, he arrived back at the underground around 0100 hours. He walked the last of the corridors on the verge of passing out. He leaned heavily on the wall determined to make it to his desk, without falling. He groped his way along the wall; he stopped for a moment when his vision blacked out again, waited for it to clear. Finally it did and Stev continued down the dank hallway.  
  
"Stev!" He looked up and caught sight of K'rin running towards him. She stopped in front of him, eyeing him up and down frantically. He was a sight for sore eyes, his face was bruised, one eye was blackened, and one of the lenses in his glasses had spidery cracks running through it. No other skin was showing except for his hands, yet under his threadbare garments his torso was contused badly. She looked at his face "Where- what happened?" She stopped; Stev took a step forwards, needed to get to his desk. His grip on the wall slipped and he staggered forward, K'rin caught him easily and tried to help him to the room. Stev pushed her away weakly.  
  
"I can handle it," he explained. K'rin stood in the hall helpless to aid him, looking face impassive. He sat down on his worn chair, shuddering slightly at having jostled a rib.  
  
"Stev," K'rin murmured "what happened?" She had barely uttered these words when Bront strode in, A tall heavy-handed man in his late thirties. Bront was the unspoken director of the clan, no one questioned it, no one else wanted the job, and he did it well enough, if controlling sometimes.  
  
"Stev boy? Tell me what happened." Stev sat silent, staring at his monitor, it was switched off. "Stev," Bront got on his knees in front of him, him hands firmly grabbed Steve's shoulders "What did they do to you?" Stev had left the monitor on. His little community couldn't afford to waste electricity. "Better yet, what did you tell them?" If a person probably wasn't coming back someone would turn off all their equipment, they had given up on him. "Listen to me. Do they know where we are?" Stev stared icily at him through a black eye and broken glasses. He just stared at him for a moment.  
  
"I did not tell them anything" he replied darkly. He tried to shake Bront loose, with no degree of success. He stood up, trying to signal his company to go, swayed a bit on his feet. "I'd like to be left alone, I-I really have to get back to my work"  
  
"Good, my boy, very good" With his job done Bront strode out of the room (Bront was not as cold hearted as he seemed. But in this world one needed to be distant, those who cared too much eventually suicided, one lost too many people to be affectionate. So Bront was mechanical in dealing with people. It worked.)  
  
Stev looked to K'rin. "I have my work, I've lost enough time already. I have to restart my computer, it could take awhile." The last comment had a bit of edge to it. They had given up on him, after only a day they had given up on him. It was a given to everyone that he would be captured and killed, but complacent with his fate though he was, it was disturbing to see life continuing unchanged without him. K'rin looked past him.  
  
"There's a meeting tomorrow, it's mandatory." She said steadily "Phred told me you were going to bring up the moving issue. I thought you might like to know." She turned on her heel and walked out. Stev watched her leave, looked after her until her thin, gloved frame faded into the murky corridor  
  
With everyone out of the room Stev's weakness hit him, he reached for his chair and caught himself before he could fall. He reached around and got his meds, and turned on the computer. 


End file.
